Dash and Dingo (39 page)

246 | Catt Ford and Sean Kennedy

them and the man who had hunted them so relentlessly. “All right, let’s go.”

The burden of taking another man’s life weighed upon him heavily, even though he knew he had to do it in order to save Dingo. That didn’t make it any easier, though. He saw the hole appear in Hodges’s forehead again and replayed the body falling soundlessly to the forest floor. Did he look like he had been surprised at being bettered in the end? Henry could barely see him, all he did was keep falling again and again.

“Come on, Dash,” Dingo prodded him.

Henry shook his head clear, pushing away the vision although he wasn’t sure how long he would be able to keep it at bay. He attempted not to limp, but all at once his wounded leg felt swollen and hot. He was grateful for the tourniquet but wondered how far they would make it in their battered state. “I found Hodges’s camp. I can take you there.”

“Blind leading the blind, eh?” Dingo grinned. “Might as well take advantage of the set-up Hodges left behind. We’ll sleep in comfort tonight before the trek back.”

Henry smiled but shook his head; sometimes it was still uncanny to him how Dingo seemed able to read his thoughts.

A sudden noise behind them and a blood-curdling shriek reminded Henry why they needed to keep moving, before full darkness fell.

“Devils found him,” Dingo said matter-of-factly. “They’ll take care of the evidence.”

“If only every criminal had a clean-up crew like that.”

“Henry, don’t do that to yourself.”

Henry repented at he looked at Dingo’s haggard face. They had enough to contend with to ensure their own survival; he didn’t need to berate himself right now. There would be plenty of time for penance later.

“He was camped by the river, like you said he would.” Henry quickly described the general direction.

“Are you sure you can make it that far? I should have—” Dingo cut himself off.

Stealing a glance at his lover, Henry felt a glad little leap of his heart at Dingo’s thundercloud expression. “I’m fine,” he said. “Let’s keep moving.”

They hobbled through the underbrush, making more noise than they should have, but with both of them injured, it was tough going. Henry led Dingo to the Tenna River, and Dingo had to chuckle wearily when he saw the

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quantity of equipment Hodges had lugged along with him. Even with the guides, it had to have been hard going. “Too close to the water. Typical.”

“There’s one guide unaccounted for. He’s likely to come back here, you know,” Henry pointed out.

“Not if he witnessed what Hodges did to the other guide.” Dingo shook his head and smiled, trying to distract Henry. “Hodges sure liked to travel in style. How do you fancy tinned corned beef for dinner?”

Henry hobbled to a folding camp chair that Hodges had left by the firepit and sank into it with a sigh. “I don’t care. I could eat a—a roasted tarantula.”

“Too bad, no tarantulas here, or I’d have a shot at catching one for you.” Dingo bent to enter the tent, and Henry heard him grunt in satisfaction.

He backed out, gingerly holding a loaded pistol in his injured hand and dragging a lumpy pack behind him. “Tins of food,” he said briefly. “I’ll make a fire.”

“Let me take care of your wrist first,” Henry said.

Dingo sighed wearily. “Yeah, I could use a sit down too.” A flash of his old impudence showed momentarily as he grinned at Henry. “What’ll it be?

The other leg of your trousers or a sleeve from your shirt to bind me up? I’d like to see a bit more skin.”

Henry snorted with laughter, wondering how he could laugh so soon after killing a man. “Well, seeing as I’ve already given up one leg, how about giving up a bit of
your
shirt?” He dragged himself to his feet, waving a hand hospitably at the stool.

“Done!” Dingo let himself down gingerly on the camp chair, holding his injured wrist. “At least the sleeve.”

Henry found several straight branches and carried them back to where Dingo was sitting. Dingo reached up with his good arm and steadied Henry so he could sit in front of him, ignoring the pain from his wound for the moment.

Henry stretched his wounded leg out in front of him and let out a sigh. Taking out the knife, he trimmed the branches of twigs and bark till he had smooth sticks to work with.

“All right, let’s see to that wrist.” Henry used the knife to cut off Dingo’s sleeve, and tore it into strips.

Dingo held his arm out. “Just give it a yank, and the bones will go back into place.”

248 | Catt Ford and Sean Kennedy

“I know that’s quicker, but if you can bear it, I can do it with less trauma to the surrounding tissue.” Henry’s slender fingers caressed Dingo’s swollen wrist, probing gently to feel the fracture.

“Do what you must.” Dingo set his teeth, determined not to cry out.

Henry massaged his wrist, manipulating the bone and gently pushing it back into place.

It hurt Dingo, but not like a brutal yank would have done. He worried his lower lip between his teeth as he watched Henry’s face, totally absorbed in his task. “Where did you learn to do this?”

“My grandfather was a doctor,” Henry replied. “Sometimes I used to help him.”

“Really?”

“Well, I’m sure I wasn’t that much help, but he would let me roll bandages and sterilize his instruments,” Henry said, smiling. “He showed me a few things, though.”

“He sounds like a kind man.”

“He was. He was very kind to me.”

“He liked having you around.” Dingo smiled at the surprised expression on Henry’s face as he looked up from his task. “Most men wouldn’t take the time to show a boy how to do their job if they didn’t like him.”

“Thank you for that.” Henry returned to his work, feeling when the ends of the bone were properly in place. “You’re lucky Hodges fractured this cleanly, although I’m sure it wasn’t his intention.” He reached for his splints, holding them in place as he tied the strips of Dingo’s sleeve around them.

“Your granddad doesn’t sound like your father.”

“He was my mother’s father,” Henry said. “A country doctor.”

“I thought your father was titled.”

“He is. My mother married well.” Henry’s smile was bitter. “She was ashamed of her father and didn’t want us spending time with him. My brother didn’t care about him much, but I loved him.”

“You take after him,” Dingo said.

That surprised Henry. “I’d never thought of that before, but I suppose that I do.”

“A kind man,” Dingo said pointedly.

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Henry knew what he was about, and it touched him. He yawned. “How far must we go tonight?”

Dingo shook his head dismally. “I think we’d better tuck ourselves into a hole and get some rest. I’m no good for too much more. If we’re going to make it out of here, we’ll need to filch what’s left of Hodges’s supplies or some other tucker.”

“At least there’s water.” Henry made a cup of bark and limped to where he heard a trickle of water, knowing he’d be unable to balance at the edge of the river to scoop water out. He bent to drink from the rill directly before filling the cup and bringing it back to Dingo.

“I should have gotten that. Your leg—”

“I’m no flipping pansy,” Henry joked. “Are we going to stay here, then?”

“Might as well, for tonight.”

Henry nodded. He was too tired to think about eating. Dingo seemed even wearier, and he wanted to take care of him.

Without speaking, they seemed to be of one mind that they would not sleep in the tent. Henry pulled out the ground cloth and spread it under an old gum tree where the roots seemed to form a cozy half circle that enveloped them in a welcome embrace.

Henry put his arm around Dingo and pulled him closer to rest his head against his chest. He stretched his throbbing leg out in front of him and leaned back against the tree.

He closed his eyes, wondering if he could sleep.

250 | Catt Ford and Sean Kennedy

Moving softly through the jungle, Jarrah pointed between the trees.

“There they are.”

“Fuck,” Hank said, for no other word would suffice. The sight of the two men sleeping, their clothing torn, their faces dirty and shadowed with stubble, and the bloody bandage on Henry’s leg overrode the discomfort he felt he might otherwise have experienced actually
seeing
his son clasped in another man’s arms. “What do you hear?”

“Normal sounds. If Hodges is in the jungle, he’s not nearby,” Jarrah said. He pushed through the scrim of leaves and went to the two men, kneeling before them to examine Henry’s leg.

Hank followed him silently. He felt incredibly useless, but he was profoundly shaken by the drawn look of pain on Dingo’s face. The thought that he might have lost his son— “Ants.”

“Yeah, we’re just in time.” Jarrah brushed the insects away from the bandage.

The feather-light touch woke Henry from a deep sleep. He stared up at the two men and started to chuckle. “You’d better not prove to be a hallucination; I should be very disappointed in both of you.”

Dingo woke up in response to an inadvertent dig in the ribs from Henry.

“Oh, hello, Dad. Harroo, Jarrah.”

“That’s all you have to say to me? You’d better start explaining all this,” Hank said belligerently.

Dingo smiled tolerantly at his father, knowing what was eating at him.

“Hodges.”

Jarrah unwound the bandage and was examining Henry’s wound. “I’ll gather some plants and make a poultice. You don’t want to get an infection.”

He stood up and slipped away into the green dimness.

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“Your wrist okay?” Hank inquired gruffly.

“Broken. Dash set it.”

“Good man.” Hank seated himself on the stool and looked down at the two men. “Jarrah said wherever Hodges is, he’s not about here. I’m assuming he’s responsible for—all this.” He waved a hand to indicate their disheveled state. “So where is he? Don’t say he managed to trap a tiger and made off with it?”

“Now would I let him do that?” Dingo demanded. “Settle down, old man.”

“Then where is he?”

“I killed him,” Henry said starkly. His eyes showed the whites skittishly.

“He deserved it,” Hank growled, “whatever he did.”

“He set up a snare and had Dash roped to a tree. Then he threw a knife into his leg to make him easier to handle.
My
knife!” Dingo snarled.

Henry stared at him for a moment before his lips trembled into a weak smile. “He tried to kill Dingo at our camp.”

Hank put a hand on Henry’s shoulder in silent sympathy. “You won’t believe me now, but you did the right thing. You’ll come to realize it.”

He watched Henry open his mouth to protest and then close it after a glance at Dingo, who seemed too exhausted to intervene.

Jarrah returned with a handful of greenery and set about making a small fire. Hank took a pot from his pack, and Jarrah went to fill it with water.

Henry and Dingo both drank their fill while Jarrah ground the leaves between two rocks. He started the water to heat up over the fire, dropping the leaves in and closing his eyes, muttering something in the foreign tongue he’d used when speaking his dreams.

When Jarrah opened his eyes, he smiled when he noticed the bark cup that Henry had made. “Not bad.”

“Do you want an aspirin?” Hank asked Dingo.

“You brought aspirin into the jungle?” Dingo seemed to find that very funny; he started to laugh almost hysterically.

“You never know,” Hank said. “Your wrist is swollen.”

“I’ll take one,” Dingo said.

252 | Catt Ford and Sean Kennedy

“None for you,” Jarrah said to Henry. “Don’t want to thin your blood.”

Henry winced when Jarrah pressed the smoking mess of green mash against his leg but sighed as almost immediately the pain was lessened. The tingle made him feel better, as if the healing powers of the plants were insinuating themselves into his wound. “Thank you, Jarrah. I keep having to thank you.”

“You have some sense.” Jarrah flashed his beautiful white smile, and Henry felt as if he had been acknowledged as worthy in some way.

Henry woke with a start and stared up at the canopy. He felt as if he’d lost hours somehow, but the security of knowing that Hank and Jarrah were looking after them had enabled him to sink into the sleep of exhaustion. The sound of Dingo’s voice was comforting even if he couldn’t make out the words. He sat up and looked over to where a fire crackled in the pit surrounded by rocks.

Jarrah was cooking something while Hank and Dingo sat close together.

Dingo was waving his splinted arm as he explained something, but he looked over at Henry when he moved.

Henry found himself smiling back at the huge grin that came over Dingo’s face.

“Haroo,” Henry said.

Hank chuckled. “He’s becoming a native.”

“Hungry?” Jarrah asked.

“Starved.”

“Good. You start to recover your strength.”

Henry pushed himself up off his elbow and looked around for

something to grab onto to get to his feet.

Jarrah nodded to his left. “Use that.”